Scars
by Xstrawberry0fieldsforeverX
Summary: Caught up in the tragedy of Madison's death, the boys forget to do the one thing they'd grown accustomed to doing on nearly every hunt they'd been on. Takes place after Heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... sadly...  
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Six minutes and thirteen seconds. It had only been six minutes and thirteen seconds ago that Sam Winchester had willingly, yet reluctantly taken the gun from his brother. It had been exactly five minutes and nine seconds since the deafening gunshot rang out, cutting through the tragic silence of the apartment, and tearing apart Dean's heart in the process. As much as he had wanted to enter the living room to check on his brother, he had not moved from his position since the gun went off. Dean wasn't sure whether to try to comfort his brother or to wait until Sam chose to leave. He hadn't seen his brother like this since Jess died, which in that case; he _had_ to get Sam out of the house.

After thinking it over, the older Winchester finally made a decision. If anyone else had heard the gunshot, they might have called the police. He and Sam needed to leave soon. Dean exhaled sharply as he hesitantly made his way into the other room.

The gun in his hand, the crimson pools staining the carpet around the area where Madison lay. Her lifeless brown eyes shone with unshed tears while others had left streaks on her colorless cheeks. Those were the only things Sam could seem to focus on for the past five minutes. He couldn't look away. If he closed his eyes, even for a brief second, the images flashed through his mind, like the recap of the memories of a previous nightmare.

She asked for this. She wanted it. In a way, he was saving her, but that didn't make him feel any less guilty, nor did it help him when he reluctantly chose to pull the trigger.

"Sammy…" Dean spoke hesitantly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. When Sam didn't respond, or demonstrate that he had in any way felt his brother's gentle touch, Dean spoke again.

"Sammy, we need to leave soon… someone might have called the cops." The younger Winchester turned slightly, acknowledging his brother's words.

"You gonna be okay?"

_ Was he going to be okay? _He would have laughed bitterly at the question had the situation not been so humorless. _Was he going to be okay? _No, he just fucking shot the woman he had grown close to over the past few days. He was far from okay at the moment. Dean was right, though. They needed to leave.

_ 'Goodbye Maddie. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.' _His eyes remained focused on her motionless body, his arms and legs refusing to move, though his brain desperately pleaded with him to get away from the sight.

"Come on, Sammy…" Dean spoke softly as he bent down to gently pry the handgun from his brother's unmoving hands. He gently helped his brother rise from the floor, turning him away from the horrific scene.

The two quietly left the building, making sure their departure was as inconspicuous as possible. Dean led his brother to the car, watching as Sam sat down in the passenger seat, staring numbly ahead when he started the car. His brother had lost so much over the past years. When he finally found someone new, someone that made him happy, she was ripped away within a matter of days. Sam was drowning in a pool of grief and despair, and Dean wasn't sure that he would be able to save him this time. While the older of the two kept his eyes on the road, his thoughts worrying about Sam, he didn't realize that he had forgotten something back at the apartment. Madison's body had not been burned.

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**A/n: So... I'm not exactly sure where I'm going to go with this fic... though I have a general idea...  
It's the first Supernatural one that I've written... so don't be too hard on my crappy excuse for writing...**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hated silence. However, that was how the car ride back to the motel was spent. He had decided not to play his music tonight, not wanting to make things worse for his brother. But one of the main reasons he played his music was to avoid the overpowering silence between the two, much like tonight. Not even a muffled cry from his brother could be heard. Sam was numb, and Dean wasn't sure what to do about it yet.

Sam had just killed someone. _Sam_ had just _killed_ someone. Sam could destroy spirits; destroy things that were already dead. He was one hell of a fighter too. But the one thing Dean was almost sure that his brother couldn't do was take another human's life. Ironically, he ended up having to, and it had to have been someone he cared about. Someone he had desperately tried to save, but failed. Someone whom in the end, could only be saved by being shot in the heart.

Rain began to drizzle down from the cloudy gray skies above, which reflected the feelings of both Winchesters. Dean grunted in discontent. This was the cherry on top of a perfect fucking day. He turned on the windshield wipers, briefly glancing over at his brother as he did so. Sam stared ahead, displaying a look of indifference.

When they pulled up into the motel parking lot, the younger Winchester continued to portray an apathetic expression, though the troubled look in his chocolate brown eyes revealed that this was not the case. Dean stepped out of the car, paused, waiting for Sam, and then entered the motel, holding the door open for his brother. The younger man halted, after stepping not too far into the motel room, a blank expression still on his face.

"We should probably get out of here…" Dean stated hesitantly, placing a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. His eyes lowered to the floor, briefly glancing at his brother's blood stained fingers. "Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll pack our stuff in the car." Satisfied with a nod from his brother, Dean walked to the far side of the room and began packing up their belongings. He then exited the room carrying most of the bags they had brought in the room, and threw them in the back of the car. The older Winchester did this several times, until the room had been emptied of all of their possessions.

As he returned to the room, he realized that Sam hadn't left the bathroom yet. Deciding to give his brother some space, he said nothing and waited a while longer for the young man to come out. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Sam was still in the bathroom. Concerned, the older Winchester made his way over to the door, and gently knocked on it. Seconds afterward, her heard a loud bang from the other side of the door; and then silence.

"Sammy?" His voice was soft, but just loud enough so that he was sure the younger hunter would be able to hear him. Dean's concern for his brother grew when Sam still hadn't responded.

"Sam, we need to go soon." Silence. "Sam!" Frustrated, the older Winchester grabbed the doorknob, and surprised to find it unlocked, yanked the door open. His eyes immediately darted down to the floor where his brother sat, his back facing Dean.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, as he slowly approached his brother. "Look, I know things are-"

His voice trailed off, mid-sentence, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. Sam, undistracted by his brother's presence, was scrubbing his hands roughly, frantically, with an old tattered washcloth, dripping with scorching water. His hands were red, the skin raw, bleeding.

_Killer._

_Murderer._

"Stop it, Sammy."

_So much blood…_

"Sam!"

_The deafening sound of the bullet._

_Her lifeless eyes._

_The coldness of her skin._

"Stop!" Faintly, he could hear Dean's voice, sounding as if he were miles away. But he couldn't focus on that.

_The blood on his hands._

_So much blood…_

It wasn't coming off. He scrubbed again and again, but it wouldn't come off, it would never come off. He could feel the sticky blood in between his fingers, the sour smell of it burning in his nostrils. And it was still there. His hands were tattooed with the crimson liquid, a constant reminder of what had happened. It wasn't just his hands. It was everywhere; everyone he touched, everyone he loved. Mom, Jess, Dad, Madison… Who was next… Dean? He began to scrub harder, until his hands were roughly yanked apart.

"Stop it, Sammy," Dean repeated. Sam could feel the small crimson streams dripping from his fingers. Forcefully, he tried to start scrubbing his hands again, only to be stopped by his brother's vice-like grip on his wrists.

"Stop," Dean pleaded, "You're hurting yourself." Sam shook his head, attempting to reach the washcloth that Dean had thrown aside, through his brother's tight grasp. He wanted the blood to be gone. He wished that the sickening smell of blood, of death, the memory of the bullet passing through her chest, all were just part of some twisted dream.

"Dammit, Sam," He snapped, releasing his grip on his brother's arms, throwing the crimson-streaked cloth into the other room. His hands tilted Sam's face upwards, forcing him to look at the older man.

"Listen to me," He spoke, softly, yet firmly, staring into the hopeless, glassy eyes of his younger brother. "There was nothing that you could have done to help her. It was your only choice."

And suddenly Sam felt like screaming at Dean. Screaming that he could have found another way if he had looked harder, that he could have helped her whenever she was about to turn. He couldn't make Dean understand that he had just taken an innocent person's life, who had to be killed because of something beyond their control. But he couldn't scream, couldn't say anything, because no matter what he did, he couldn't get the images out of his mind.

Dean watched as Sam began to tremble, desperately trying to blink back the unshed tears of the earlier events of the night. Hesitantly, Dean placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Sam shook it off, embarrassed as tears slowly began to cascade down his cheeks.

"Man, you did what you had to do," Dean told him, speaking to him as if he were no more than a frightened child. "You saved her from becoming a monster… killing all of those people."

_**I**__ am a monster._

Sam began to tremble violently, a choked sob escaping his lips.

"Sammy…" He mumbled, wrapping an arm around his brother's shaking form. He pulled Sam into a hug, feeling as his shirt became damp with his brother's tears.

"It'll be okay," He soothed as he gently rubbed Sam's back. He could feel Sam's resistance to his words, but didn't add anything because he wasn't sure he believed them either.

"I'm sorry, man. I know you really liked her…" Dean said after a while. Sam pulled away slowly, looking at him with glossy, red-rimmed eyes.

"It's not just that…" He said hoarsely.

"I know that." He paused, "And for the last time, there was nothing you could have done."

"We don't know that, Dean… there might have been some-"

"Yes we do, Sam."

"Dean," he said, his voice cracking as he spoke, "I… I killed an innocent person."

"If you hadn't, a hell of a lot more people would have died because of it."

"She could have-"

"You saved her life."

"I _took_ her life." Sam snapped, staring at himself with disgust.

"What if she lived knowing that she could be killing dozens of people each month?"

"I-"

"There was no other choice. Try to understand that." Dean told him, staring intently in the younger man's eyes.

"I…I guess you're right…" Sam replied hesitantly, looking away; an indication that he was lying. Dean nodded, playing along, rose from the floor, and helped his brother up.

"Come on… We should get out of here. The police are probably investigating her apartment by now…" Sam nodded again, a solemn expression still displayed on his face. As he followed Dean out of the motel room, he had one wish: he wanted to leave California, and never come back.

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**A/n: I think I'm pretty sure where I'm going with this now... maybe...  
Blah... I don't know if this chapter was that great... And sorry for any spelling/grammar errors... I tried to reread this and catch them all, but I might have missed some. (Hopefully not, though).**

**And thanks for the reviews last chapter! **


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